For the Love of Food
by Hermione Holmes
Summary: Sequel to Less Than Perfect. Mitra Townsend takes a cooking class, but discovers some very bizarre things, one of which directly involves Will Hamilton, a modern day Sherlock Holmes. POV has changed. Enjoy! UPDATE:CHAPTER 2!
1. On the Ego and Burrito

A/N- Here's a new chapter one and two, both of which are in third person. Having it from Mitra's POV seemed a bit superficial, but I'm willing to change it back if necessary- let me know!

Chapter One- On the Ego and Burrito.

"…And, uh, green peppers and olives. Just the black ones."

"That it?" The young man behind the counter asked in a bored tone. Mitra Townsend nodded and took out some money as he began rolling the burrito.

"I hear the jalapeños are quite good. You might want to try them," someone murmured behind her. She turned and smiled, surprised to see Will Hamilton, cell phone to his ear, standing in the long, winding line at Chipotle.

"Hey," she replied cheerfully, accepting change from the girl at the cash register.

Will opened his mouth to speak but then turned his attention back to his cell. "Right...is that…huh, well…"

"I'll save us a table," she mouthed, pointing to the window.

Five minutes later, they were enjoying their food in a companionable silence.

It had been about three months since they had last seen each other. After their first, and only, adventure in October, in which they had uncovered a murder and recovered a stolen Buddha, they had been bombarded by papers and finals, so there had been little opportunity to meet.

"So, uh, Will," Mitra began, eyeing her companion. He seemed a bit leaner than she remembered him, but his bright gray eyes shone as he glanced at her. "What did you do for winter break? Why aren't you in England?"

He took a sip of Pepsi before answering. "I have work."

"Oh, a new case?" She asked, rather eager to help him with another investigation.

"Erm, nothing yet, but soon, yeah." Will pulled the foil back and speared a black bean with his fork. "How about you?"

She made a face. "Half of my family is in the Bahamas right now, so I came back early. Plus, I have class."

"Ah, Mitra, always the studious one."

"No, it's a cooking class. At Old Brownstone."

Will frowned.

"Old Brownstone, the restaurant."

"Really. I had no idea." He arched an eyebrow.

Mitra apologized quickly, not wanting to insult him, and explained. "I'm taking the class because I figure, last year of college, get out to the real world, no more dining hall. So I might as well learn to cook. It's an investment. Besides," she added, lightly touching her waist and grimacing. "I'd better start watching my weight, especially now that the holidays are over."

He smiled broadly. "That's brilliant. I had planned on eating at McDonald's until I died of clogged arteries, but now I have a chef right here to cook for me."

Mitra scoffed and glanced out the window as Will took another sip of his drink. People were scurrying about through the snow flurries that were coming down, and, among them were Mitra's roommates, Vicky and Monique. She hurriedly tapped on the glass as they walked by Chipotle and waved, as they acknowledged her and hastened in.

Greetings went around once they reached their table. They declined Mitra's offer of joining them, saying they wanted to get to Panda Express before all the orange chicken was gone. Mitra then introduced them to Will, who was busily scrutinizing them.

"Too bad Metro was late or you would have been able to reach the movie earlier," he noted.

Monique gaped at him as Vicky gave a snort of derision and brushed snow from her blonde hair. "Someone obviously told you."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, actually. Your Metro and movie tickets are sticking out of your pocket. I see you got off at Gallery Place but your stub for _Hotel Rwanda_ is nearly two hours later. Therefore, because of the snow and Metro falling behind, you arrived at the E Street Cinema late and had to go to a later show."

"Q.E.D.," Mitra added.

"Yes, thank you, Q.E.D."

Vicky glared sourly at him before turning to her friend. "So, what's up?"

"Nothing. We were just talking about that cooking class I'm taking."

She rolled her eyes. "It's so stupid. We've come so far for equal rights and now you're taking this cooking," (she choked the word out as though it was some horrible disease), "class and going back to being-" She turned to Will, who had been staring unabashedly at her. "What?"

He shrugged, the look on his face feigning innocence. An awkward pause in the conversation followed.

"So, your roommate didn't come," Monique said eventually to Will.

"No, er, he's working on his thesis."

"Oh," she replied.

"Hey, maybe you could introduce us sometime, Will," Mitra said brightly. "I'd like to meet Dante."

"Sure, but I'll be a bit busy for the next few weeks."

"With what?"

"Well, erm, the new term is going to start and, like I said, there's work-"

"That's not true," Vicky interrupted quickly. "Someone's coming to visit him. From England." She smiled sweetly at him as it was his turn to look sour. "A little birdy told me."

Mitra gaped at him, her blue eyes lighting up. "Really? Oh, Will, this is so exciting!"

"Erm, right."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you would fuss over it."

"You know me so well," she said, smiling. "Who is it?"

He glared exasperatedly at them. "An old friend."

"Really? How long have you known this person?"

"Since primary school. We haven't seen each other in a few years. She'll be coming to do some photography work."

"She?" Vicky muttered in a disbelieving tone.

Will raised his cold, piercing eyes to her. "Yes, 'she'. You know, ovaries, breasts, that whole bit."

"Thanks, I know what being a woman means."

He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Do you? Only I never would have suspected you of understanding."

She opened her mouth in surprise and didn't speak for a few seconds. Her face turned red as she muttered something about orange chicken and stomped out. Monique rolled her eyes and waved at them before following her.

When they were once again alone, Mitra frowned at Will. "That wasn't very nice."

"It was actually rather amusing, I thought." He smiled impishly.

"But Vicky's my friend," she protested, not knowing how Will could be so acerbic.

"Don't know how you can stand her, but all right."

"Will! I would never do that with any of your friends."

"Well, you might, considering how some of them are." His expression took on something that looked vaguely apologetic. "All right, I was extreme, albeit justified. I won't do it again."

She scrunched her brow. "Really?"

He squinted. "So long as she's not around, yeah. Anyway, I had better go. I've got some things to do." And he left, leaving Mitra to contemplate the ego over the remainder of her chicken burrito.


	2. All Hail the Great Bon Vivant

Chapter Two- All Hail the Great Bon Vivant

"And now, ve put ze _ail_ eentoo ze sauce. Do you see eet?"

"Yes," the students chimed among puffs of steam.

Chef Dominique frowned. "_Non_, _non_."

"_Oui_, Chef Dominique."

"_Bon_."

It was the third day of Mitra's class at the Old Brownstone, which was, appropriately enough, an old brownstone, situated on Dupont Circle. The restaurant had newly opened less than a month ago and, in addition to ridiculously overpriced food, they offered Cooking 101.

Chef Dominique, the proprietor, had come up to the second floor to see how they were doing. He was a sprightly man, as thin as the moustache above his lips, with a head of badly dyed black hair. Mitra privately thought he used glue to keep his chef's hat so firmly affixed to his badly dyed black hair. He tended to lean intensely into what they were making and inhale deeply, although not always with a pleasant look on his face.

Chef Nguyen was the one who taught the class. She was a petite Asian woman in her thirties and, although it was obvious to Mitra that she did not always welcome Chef Dominique's visits, she would sit quietly on a stool while he lectured them on why parsnips were better than cumin.

"Now stir, please, stir ze sauce." He leaned over to smell the pot of the person sitting in front of Mitra when his brow suddenly creased and he rose indignantly. "_Qu'est que c'est_?" He cried, gesturing towards the pot. The student opened his mouth to speak but Chef Dominique went on. "Zeese ees not garlic. Eet ees ze ginger you have put een ze sauce. _Mon Dieu_!" He threw his hands up in the air and stalked to the front of the room, where he began taking out jars and bottles from a cupboard. His dark, beady eyes swept over the room as he began passing them around, indicating that the students should smell them and then identify what they thought was in the jars.

"Basil?" Was the uncertain response of the person sitting nearest him.

The next student was a bit more confident. "Uh, something like…some herb."

So it continued. He came to the person next to Mitra, a very young, short, stout girl named Tamara. Chef Dominique, however, delighted in calling her by her last name, which, unfortunately, happened to be Bundt.

She sniffed deeply and puckered her lips in thought. "Was it, like, onions?"

He rolled his eyes upwards and thrust the jar at Mitra. "You! Viz hair ze color of Italian tomatoes een ze summer, vat ees zeese?"

As Mitra had never seen an Italian tomato in the summer, she wasn't sure if she should be flattered or not, and she touched her red hair as if to make sure it wasn't rotten. "Smells like…rosemary." She frowned and sniffed again. "But with…what is that…sage?"

His eyes opened wide and his moustache quivered with excitement. "Ah! Your nose, my dear, your nose ees superb!"

Mitra touched her nose and laughed at this…unique…comment as he returned his attention to the rest of the class and said, "Now, zat ees vat I vant from zis class. To smell! Smell everyzing in front of you. _Bon_." He turned to Chef Nguyen and nodded. "_Mademoiselle_. _Adieu_."

Chef Nguyen sighed after he had gone and frowned at the clutter of bottles he had left on the table. "Okay. Take your sauces and dump them out. Garlic ruins the flavor."

Afterwards, when they were packing up to leave, Tamara accidentally spilled some condensed milk on the table. Mitra's bag also received a few drops and Tamara began apologizing profusely.

"Oh, I'm so, like, sorry," she gasped, tearing off half a dozen paper towels to clean up the small beads of milk.

"It's okay, really," Mitra tried assuring her even as she scrubbed hard to remove any invisible stains.

"Are you in high school?" She asked curiously, shaking her stiff bleached hair out of her wide blue eyes.

"Uh, no, I'm at-"

"Oh, well I'm, like, a senior." There was a certain degree of pride in her voice as she said this. "I'm taking this class to figure out if I should, like, go to cooking school or not. Where did you say you were at?"

"I'm at-" she started again, but this time was cut off by her cell phone ringing.

"It's your phone," she announced helpfully, diving her hand into Mitra's bag to take it out.

"Oh, thanks, I can take it," she said as Tamara flipped it open. "Or, sure, you can."

"Hey, who's, like, speaking?...Uhuh…Oh my gosh, are you, like, British? Shut up!" She squealed.

"It's Will, isn't it?" Mitra mumbled.

"He, like, says his name is Will."

"Right, so can I have my phone-"

"I, like, just love England," she exclaimed, practically shouting into the phone. "I mean, I've never actually been there, but I hear it's really, like, cool. Do you all, like, really drink that much tea?" It was at this point that Mitra tried to gently pull the phone away from her. "Oh, wait up, Mitra, like, wants to talk to you. Cheerio!"

She handed the phone to her, leaned forward, and whispered loudly, "He sounds, like, kind of surly."

Mitra smiled politely and, turning away for a little bit of privacy, cautiously held the phone up to her ear. There was a long silence until Will spoke. "Mitra?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank God," he breathed. "For a minute there I thought she had permanently damaged my hearing with her screeches."

"I'm really sorry," she said softly.

"It's amazing actually. She's even perkier than you."

"I guess she was excited by your accent," she said, ignoring his rib. "And then there was the milk."

"The milk?" He repeated inquisitively.

"Condensed."

"Erm, right then. I, erm, just rang up to say that you should stop by my room, but I reckon teaching your friend actual English would be a more commendable service to society."

"What's in your room?"

"You wanted to meet Fiona, didn't you?"

"Who? Oh, Fiona, your friend! Oh, wow, yeah, I'll be there. Is she allergic to shellfish?"

There was a small pause. "I'll see you Mitra."

"Wait, can you stay on the line? I have to go down an alley to get to my car."

He paused again. "You do understand that criminals aren't going to be scared off by my voice, right? Besides, my minutes are being used up here."

"Oh, come on Wi-"

"Oh my gosh, I, like, have to go down that alley too!" Tamara interrupted loudly. "You know, to, like, get on the Metro. We can, like, so go together." She shoved Mitra's coat and bag at her and headed towards the door. "Come on."

"There, see?" Will said, as Mitra reflected on how ridiculously far Tamara's voice could carry. "And remember, if anyone follows you or offers you drugs, just throw something with carbs at them and I'm sure they'll run off," he advised before hanging up.

Tamara and Mitra exited the restaurant by the side door and stepped out into the small, dimly lit alley. They walked quickly, trying to avoid stepping in the garbage that littered the place as their breath took shape before them. Naturally, Tamara started talking again, so that by the time they emerged from the alley, she had somehow obtained Mitra's phone number and her life story, and Mitra knew more about her than she really wanted to.

"…and I told him that if he, like, ever stuck his hands down my pants again, I'd, like, totally tell my boyfriend. Oh, I really gotta go, don't wanna, like, miss my train. Bye!" Tamara said, heading off for the Metro station as Mitra walked to her Civic.

The parking lot was nearly deserted and the silence seemed even more oppressive to Mitra when Tamara was no longer there to fill it up. She had nearly reached her car when-

_Rrriiing. Rrriiing._

She gasped, momentarily startled, and gazed at the pay phone she had just passed.

_Rrriiing. Rrriiing._

No one was nearby and she considered just not answering it, but then she thought it could be an emergency, or maybe someone desperately needed to get in touch with someone else.

_Rrriiing. Rrriiing._

Besides, that noise was really grating on her nerves, so Mitra slowly went over, picked up the receiver, and held it up to her ear.

"He-"

"Hey, man, where you been? Look, he's comin' out now, so you ready? And remember, nothin' rough, cause then we don't get paid."

Her eyes opened wide as she looked around, but no one was coming out of anywhere. "I'm sorry," she said slowly. "Who do you need to speak w-"

The person on the other end cursed and hung up quickly. Mitra briefly wondered how much crack he had had to snort before she hung up as well and walked quickly to her car.

A/N- Well, that was two chapters with a new POV. Let me know what you all think. Also, any input on the plot and characters is welcome. Thanks to all the reviewers!

**utsuri**- I'm glad this kept your interest and I hope you enjoy the rest of it. Thank you!

**HowAreYouToday**- Thanks for your encouragement and enthusiasm, and for pointing out that mistake. I hate making errors, and I appreciate your help. "On the Psychology of Sherlock Holmes" should be up soon, hopefully. Thanks!

**Dreamsprite5**- You'll find out soon enough about that. Thanks for the review!

**Estriel**- Thanks for the great support! I hope you like the rest.

**Moonjava**- A review is always good, no matter when it is received. Thanks for the compliments!

**silvertongue04**- I'm glad you liked the dialogue, as I was afraid it might be a bit confusing. Thank you!

**EdWood**- That was a really nice compliment, thanks! As you can see, I've updated, which might be a hint to you to update your story, as it was quite enjoyable;)

Review please!


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